'First of all,' the Master's son risked, 'of himself. And last of all too. I don't quite see of whom else.'
Peter had an approach to impatience. 'Of your mother, I say—always.'
Lance cast it all up. 'You absolutely feel that?'
'Absolutely.'
'Well then with yourself that makes three.'
'Oh me!'—and Peter, with a wag of his kind old head, modestly excused himself. The number's at any rate small enough for any individual dropping out to be too dreadfully missed. Therefore, to put it in a nutshell, take care, my boy—that's all—that you're not!'
'I've got to keep on humbugging?' Lance wailed.
'It's just to warn you of the danger of your failing of that that I've seized this opportunity.'
'And what do you regard in particular,' the young man asked, 'as the danger?'
'Why this certainty: that the moment your mother, who feels so strongly, should suspect your secret—well,' said Peter desperately, 'the fat would be on the fire.'